Rubbish.

The next morning saw a subdued Harry sitting at his breakfast silently as Snape read and polished off his own meal with the graceful, somehow elegant efficiency of movement with which he did everything else. Harry found himself watching Snape, tongue flicking out to touch the tip to his upper lip as he remembered the kiss from the night before. He'd wanted Severus to sleep with him, but had been gently rejected as a kiss touched his brow and then the warm body of his guardian retreated to the bathroom. He'd tried to stay awake, but sleep crept upon him with cat's feet and he soon found himself drifting lazily through a dream of color and light.


Now he flushed as he recalled the kiss and the sense of peace it had awoken in his chest, wondering if he should ask Snape to kiss him every time he started being 'Bad Harry'. He blushed harder at this thought, realizing that such things were far easier to think about and do when it was late and there was little light. He poked a poached egg with his fork and chewed his lower lip, finally working up the courage to whisper softly. "You're going to have to punish me, aren't you?" He peeked up through his hair at Snape's face, watching him set his book aside and turn inscrutable dark eyes upon him. "Yes. However, it will wait until this afternoon. First you should go outside for a while, there is a broom just inside the back door...but, be careful, as any attempt to fly outside the boundaries of my property will not end well."


Harry nodded, thrilled by the thought of flying again, and he jumped up to race through the house to the back door, snatching up the ancient broom. He spent the next three hours zooming within the confines of Snape's fence, having learned his lesson after his first attempt to fly beyond them ended with him bouncing off of an invisible barrier and landing in a patch of brambles. He landed finally, out of breath and ravenous, not having eaten much for breakfast, not to mention how out of shape he'd gotten since his last Quidditch match. "Severus!" He shouted as he banged into the house, all thoughts of punishment long banished in the euphoria of flying. "I'm hungry!"


Snape glided into the kitchen from the rear of the house with a slight scowl on his face. "Do you purposefully make as much noise as possible, or is that a side-effect of being a teenager? Because, I am fairly sure I did not make that much noise when I was sixteen." Harry laughed and dropped to sit at the table, peering at Severus as he conjured a plate of sandwiches and fresh pickles, as well as glasses of pumpkin juice. "What were you like..." Harry snatched up a sandwich and took a big bite, before finishing his question. "...when you were my age?"


"Well, for one thing I had better table manners." Snape murmured with a faint upward movement to the corner of his mouth, neatly taking a bite of his own sandwich and somehow avoiding getting crumbs all over himself. Harry wondered how he did that, but then...there were a lot more pressing things he wondered about. "Really, Severus. What were you like? I know I saw that memory...but, that really only showed me what my dad and Sirius were like, you know?" At the mention of that unpleasant and embarrassing memory Snape frowned, sipping his pumpkin juice before settling back in his chair. "I was a very angry, antisocial teenager, Harry. My home life was unpleasant, my Muggle father abusive and my witch mother...ineffectual at best."


Harry's eyes widened, unable to help drawing comparisons between himself and Snape. "Kind of like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, huh? Did...did your dad actually hit you?" Snape lowered his eyes, not relishing bringing up the past, but unable to find a reason to justify not answering. "Father rarely used his hands on me. He preferred things like willow switches from the tree in the backyard, or what he affectionately nicknamed 'The Boy Beater', which was a wooden paddle with sandpaper on one side and holes drilled into it." His stomach turned at the memories and he closed his eyes, lips pressing tightly together.


"Bloody hell, Severus. The Dursley's only ever smacked me around, they didn't...didn't have tools specifically for the job." Snape's smile rose sickly and weak to his lips, eyes opening to stare at the food that suddenly looked as appetizing as old shoe leather. "Mostly he just used his words unless he was in a particularly foul mood. That, or he'd grab mother and make me watch....as he hurt her, then tell me if I hit her he'd stop." Snape stood and paced into the living room to the couch, settling on it and staring into the empty fireplace. "It wasn't until I was about seven that I started doing it, because I knew it would be far harder on her if I didn't."


Harry dropped his sandwich, his own appetite utterly wrecked, and followed Snape into the living room, automatically curling up on the couch beside him, nestling against his side and whispering. "That's just evil, Severus. It's a wonder you didn't end up mental or as evil as Voldemort." Severus turned and pulled Harry against him, closing his eyes as he buried his face in the boy's hair, smelling sunshine, earth and...and Harry. "I almost did, Harry. He planted the seeds of my tree, and then...when he died I pissed on his grave. But, the hate didn't die with him, everyone else, everyone happy became the object of my animosity. I was convinced I was a hateful, evil, ugly bastard and everyone who laughed, smiled or even looked halfway normal only made me feel more like the villain in some horror novel."


Harry wrapped his arms around his guardian and hugged him tightly, pressing his face against him and murmuring quietly. "No wonder you hated Sirius and my Dad, the way they teased you must have reminded you of your father. Plus, they must have seemed to have so much that you didn't." Snape merely nodded and lifted his head, taking a deep breath. "Albus made me realize that my father was pathetic under it all. He was terrified of my mother and me, her because she was a witch and me because he knew I might turn out like her. He was afraid and so he lashed out, made us as small as he could so that he could feel strong." Harry blinked and tilted his head back to look up at Severus with bright eyes. "Like Voldemort. He was so afraid of dying that he did everything he could to prevent it."


Snape nodded and bent to kiss Harry's brow. "Exactly. I have some work to do in my office, but you are free to read or go flying..." Harry shook his head, brows furrowing. "But, you haven't punished me for what I did yesterday, yet." Snape's forehead crinkled and he slid away from him, looking down at him. "Are you asking me to punish you, Harry?" A blush flooded the boy's face and he looked down at his hands, squirming a bit. "Well, it is important, isn't it? I mean, I'm not exactly looking forward to it, but if it will help me..." He trailed off, feeling rather stupid for mentioning it and ruining the good feelings between himself and Snape.


"Yes, of course. Go into the bedroom and strip. Then get on your hands and knees on your bed." Harry felt an instant roar in his chest and his hands clenched into fists, but he tried to fight off his rage and indignation as he rose to his feet and headed for the bedroom. Snape had seen the glint of anger and defiance rise into the boy's eyes, and he waited until Harry was out of sight before exhaling in a rush. "I can do this. I can do this." He licked his lips, remembering the soft feel of Harry's lips the night before, and the sweet breath that had mingled with his own. The memory made him want to rush after Harry and tell him that they didn't have to do this, but he knew that was a selfish desire and he shoved it away.


When Harry heard Snape's steps enter the bedroom he blushed furiously and pressed his face into his pillow to squash the desire to say something caustic, his hands fisting in the sheets. Severus paused and looked over the pale, slender form of his ward, so young and so vulnerable, and yet this boy had defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time. His heart constricted in his chest and he gritted his teeth against the tingling at the corners of his eyes, hand tightening around his belt. "It will be ten lashes for each time I was forced to cast Cruciolus and another twenty for the dishes. That is fifty in all, Mr. Potter." Harry shuddered, remembering how painful twenty had been, and unable to contemplate how much worse fifty would be.


He remained silent for as long as he could, his anger crystallizing to hatred around the thirtieth stinging strike against his bare skin, determined not to scream or cry. However, his resolve shattered during the last ten lashes and he shrieked, writhing and sobbing wildly, begging Snape to stop, crying for his mother to help him. He collapsed when the final lash struck him, accompanied by Snape's cool voice. "Fifty." Another bottle was placed on the nightstand and then he heard the swish of robes as Snape swept from the room, his whole body shaking from the fire that burned from the small of his back to his knees. His hate was like shards of glass in his brain, and he spat out after his guardian. "If you're going to go and wank, why not just do it in here and cum all over me? I'm sure you'd love that, you fucking pervert!


He reached weakly over and grabbed the potion, downing it and crawling beneath his covers with soft sobs of pain, nestling in as the potion worked it's soothing magic and he drifted into sleep.


Snape stumbled blindly into his office and across to the small half-bath, falling to his knees before the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach in convulsing heaves. He could hear Harry's screams echoing in his ears, his cries for his mother and the frantic, desperate begging. Worst of all, he could still hear Harry's parting shot. He spat into the bowl and reached up to flush before falling over on his side and pressing his hot face to the cool tiles, more seizures of cold and shaking overwhelming him. 'Not broken...Not broken. Oh, Merlin, please...Not much more of this. I beg you. Let him break before I have to...'